


moments [the world can't stop us]

by andibeth82



Series: and when we're there we'll belong [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/F, F/M, Multi, OT3, Slice of Life, Snippets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2018-04-19
Packaged: 2019-01-19 08:39:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12406956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andibeth82/pseuds/andibeth82
Summary: Clint, Laura and Natasha -- the moments in their lives, and everything in between.[timestamps in theand when we're there we'll belongverse.]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> While it's still too early for me to dive into continuing this series as another 100K+ story (sorry, guys, I need some measure of Infinity War storytelling info before I figure stuff out since this universe IS technically set in canon), I know a lot of people have missed this OT3. And to be honest, I've missed writing them like this.
> 
> So, this will be a collection of small in-universe moments from across all three fics so far in this series. There won't be specific timing attached to each one, although you can probably infer the timing of some of the chapters if you're familiar enough with the storytelling. There's also a chance that if this gets completed at some point, I may go back and re-order the moments based on chronology.
> 
> This work will be updated based on how well the muse cooperates, but hopefully more often than not!

The door slams downstairs, jolting Natasha out of the sleep she’s just started to welcome. It takes her a moment to get her bearings; she’s still not used to feeling like the farmhouse is somewhere she can relax and rest and feel, well...like she belongs anywhere that’s considered normal. As much as she appreciates it, she’s almost sick of Laura’s constant sweet gestures and Clint’s easy nature, and the fact that they don’t seem to care who they’re letting into their house and around their kids.

The problem is, when she is at the farm, she also wants to be nowhere else than Clint’s house, pretending like she belongs here alongside in his wife, in some way that’s more than part-time.

“What’s wrong?”

Clint enters the bedroom, striding across the floor and throwing a towel onto the bed. “Nothing.”

“Not nothing,” Natasha prods, sitting up. “You disturbed my nap _and_ you look like you’re going to shoot an arrow through my head. What’s wrong?”

Clint massages his face, rubbing his eyes for a long time. “Laura. It was nothing. She just asked me to pick something up from the store and I forgot, and now she’s mad, and --” He stops, shaking his head. “Forget it. It’s dumb married stuff. You --”

“I wouldn’t understand?” Natasha asks a little more sharply than she means to. She gets up off the bed to walk towards him, and Clint immediately drops his gaze, looking guilty.

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, you meant it exactly like that,” Natasha replies, trying not to let her voice betray how hurt she is by his words. It’s stupid, she knows that it is, but she’s tired and out of sorts and she already feels like she’s struggling to fit in here, even with Cooper’s butterfly kisses and Laura’s gentle touch.

“I didn’t,” Clint repeats, moving forward and taking her by the shoulders. Natasha wrenches away.

“You just assume I’m not going to understand anything because I don’t know this life,” she says angrily. “When all I’ve done before now is pretended to live a life like this. Why? How is that even fair?”

Clint, to his credit, looks entirely confused at the amount of vitriol being thrown his way, and Natasha knows why. For as much as she’s expressed her trepidation at being a part of this family, she’s never lashed out quite so harshly about things like this before -- at least, not to him. She decides to continue anyway.

“Is that why you didn’t tell me that you want to have another kid?”

“What?” Clint’s eyebrows shoot up as if he’s been electrocuted. “Who…”

“I had to hear it from Cooper,” Natasha says shortly. “From your _son_ , Clint. Your four-year-old son!”

Clint closes his eyes. “Look, I don’t even know if it’s going to happen, okay? And if I did know if it was going to happen, of course I would tell you. But he overheard us talking about it by accident, so we had to open the conversation somehow, otherwise he would ask questions --”

“To _him_ , and not to me!” She doesn’t understand where all this hurt is unfurling from; she’s never been one to care about someone else’s life so strongly before, and certainly not someone who lived a life so full and perfect and domestic and foreign. But right now, she doesn’t care. “If you can’t tell me things like this, then what the hell am I even doing here? Do you even _want_ me here?”

“That’s stupid,” Clint scoffs, picking up an afghan from the back of Laura’s desk chair and dropping it on the floor. “Of course I do. And you come here all the time. I wouldn’t ask you to come home with me if I didn’t want you here.”

“I’ve spent a lifetime learning that generosity is not the same as wanting,” Natasha responds pointedly, turning on her heel. She hears Clint groan audibly behind her, sounding half-annoyed and half-upset.

“Nat, come on!”

She walks swiftly out of the room and down the stairs, marching directly into the kitchen where Laura is leaning over the table, sorting bills. Laura looks up as Natasha enters, dark hair falling around her face and into her eyes as she removes her glasses, clearly attuned to the fact that something is wrong.

“Natasha?”

“ _Natasha_!”

The front door bursts open suddenly and Natasha’s head snaps up. Cooper drops his bag in the entryway, speeding forward and locking his tiny hands around her legs as he barrels into the kitchen. Laura’s gaze shifts, her eyes narrowing at her son, and she raises an eyebrow.

“Mommy wants to hug you, too,” she says pointedly. Cooper looks up and grins with a gap-toothed smile.

“Nah. Just Nat.”

Laura shakes her head. “Nevermind.” She leaves her papers on the table and walks into the living room, and Natasha can vaguely make out a conversation between Laura and another woman who, when she peeks around the corner, she recognizes as Laura’s mother. Something sharp coils in her stomach; Laura’s mother is the last person she wants to see right now after fighting with Clint and feeling like she doesn’t know her place here.

“Coop, go back to your grandma,” she manages, prying small fingers off of her jeans. Cooper doesn’t budge, and Natasha risks the urge to shake him off in any kind of violent manner.

“Seriously, Coop. I’ve gotta go do grown-up things. I’ll be right back, okay?”

“Okay, but you _promise_ ,” Cooper warns, the “r” in his sentence morphing into a “w.” Natasha doesn’t bother to correct him, smiling as she pushes him lightly towards the living room. She backs up quickly towards the door that leads to the backyard and manages to get outside, safely escaping into the soft twilight right when Laura’s voice starts to enter the kitchen, along with her mother’s.

Natasha walks as quickly as she can, barely registering the fact that wet grass is seeping through her thin shoes and soaking her toes in cold chill. She doesn’t worry about being followed; Laura’s too invested with her mom and Clint will know to leave her alone after her outburst, if he knows what’s good for him.

Most of the land surrounding the farm is open and wide, and the house stands alone as a solitary figure save for the accessories that surround it to make it feel less lonesome -- the fence, the barn, the driveway, the tire swing and trees, the car. There’s a stretch of woods behind the house, however, a little ways back. It’s not too dense, but it’s dense enough that Laura has mandated a strict watch on Cooper when he’s running around the yard because it’s possible for him to get lost among the branches and moss and dry ground.

Natasha steps under the canopy of trees and immediately feels like she’s entered another world. In reality, she hasn’t even stepped five feet from the farm, which is still visible behind her, down to the wind chimes that she can see swinging easily in the breeze; she can even still hear them trilling from her vantage point. But being encased in some kind of physical armor, something more than borrowed jeans and a college sorority sweatshirt, makes her feel safe. The woods remind her of her life before she came to SHIELD, the kind of place she would hide when she was looking for an escape or for shelter and had to improvise on little notice.

She walks deeper into the woods until she finds an old log that looks clean enough for her to not feel bad about getting some measure of mud and dirt on her loaned clothes. Natasha sits down and realizes her legs are heavy, like she still has Cooper’s arms attached to her, phantom child hands hugging her tightly and in a way that suggests Clint and Laura’s son has actually taken to her as more than just someone who hangs around the house and attempts to help cook dinner. Natasha shivers in the wind as it picks up, and wraps her arms around her legs to stave off the feeling.

“Why are you out here?”

Natasha doesn’t look up, fixating her gaze on the ground. “Free woods, right?”

“Of course,” Laura says, stepping closer. “But it’s cold. And I’m making hot chocolate if you want some.”

Natasha tries not to shy away as Laura approaches, because she doesn’t want to give off the impression that something is wrong, even though she knows that secret has probably already been blown given that she’s sitting out here by herself. She swallows hard, finally meeting Laura’s eyes. “Where’s your mom?”

“She left,” Laura says with a shrug. “Normally she’d stay a little longer and spend time with us, but I told her I was busy and that I’d visit her later this week. And Clint’s got Cooper for a bit, so…” She sits down next to Natasha, and bumps her shoulder. “Want some company?”

Natasha tries to smile. “You don’t need to stay out here with me.”

“I don’t, but I want to,” Laura replies simply. “A girl I like is out here all alone, and I feel like I should be doing something more than paying bills.”

Natasha suddenly feels vulnerable, and she hates that Laura can pull that feeling out of her so easily. “I yelled at Clint.”

“Oh.” Laura looks nonplussed, and pulls dark hair over one shoulder. “That’s okay. I yell at him all the time. I figured you’ve heard, since he’s always with you.”

Something about Laura’s light tone makes Natasha angry, because it just doesn’t seem right that she can sit here and joke about things like fighting about her sense of belonging, or her place when it came to this family, or the feelings that she couldn’t even figure out if she deserved or even wanted. Laura was nice and forgiving and open, but not _that_ nice and forgiving and open.

“You know, I think you got to know Clint a lot faster than I did,” Laura says softly, when Natasha doesn’t speak. She sounds a little sad, but Natasha doesn’t bother to call her out on it. “It took me awhile to get him to open up. Sometimes, I feel like I’m still learning things about him. But with you, he had to be an open book almost immediately, right?”

Natasha nods, she’s never thought about their relationship in that way, but then again, she’s never thought of herself as anything specific as it pertained to Clint and Laura, both individually and together. Like so many things, they just were.

“I guess. Because I didn’t trust him.”

“I didn’t understand it, at first,” Laura says. “I didn’t get why he would open up to someone like that just to get them to trust him. I was angry. But I’ve learned to give him the benefit of the doubt, and I think you were worth it.”

Natasha shakes her head, staring straight ahead. She can see the farm clearly, the warm light shining in the windows of the kitchen, which face the backyard. “I don’t know if I’m worth the trouble.”

Laura reaches for Natasha’s hand, taking her fingers and squeezing them gently. “That’s not a question you need answered right now.”

 _Then what do I need right now?_ Natasha asks herself, lungs burning as if she’s run a marathon. When she had left the house, she just wanted space -- space from the cozy lifestyle she was trying to figure out how to belong in, space from Laura and Clint, space from Cooper. If Laura hadn’t come out here as quickly as she did, Natasha knows she would’ve eventually contemplated leaving and going back to New York early, so as not to screw up anything else between them -- whatever was happening that they couldn’t control and didn’t know how to talk about.

And she knows if she did that, she would probably be miserable, sitting alone in her room at SHIELD while knowing Clint was here with Laura.

“Do you mind if I stay for a few days?”

“Of course not,” Laura says, putting a hand on her cheek. “Why would I mind?”

Natasha breathes out slowly, thinking of the earlier argument. “I just...I don’t want to impose.”

“You’re not imposing,” Laura promises, leaning over. Her lips brush Natasha’s cheek gently and softly. “You never are.”

Natasha closes her as as Laura’s mouth continues move across her skin. “I just like being here,” she admits, letting herself lean into Laura, the warmth that had been so elusive finally starting to creep into her bones as the chill around them grows more intense, the sun dropping swiftly behind the clouds. Natasha feels Laura smile.

“I like you being here, too.”


	2. Chapter 2

“What’s going on?”

Laura’s voice jars Clint out of his thoughts, reminding him for the tenth time that he’s not at work and not with Natasha, but at home with laundry and bills and lawnmowers. He shuts himself down before he realizes he won’t ever get to really go to work again. At least, not in the same way he’s become used to for so many years.

“Favors,” he says, without turning around. “Nat wants me to go visit some families.”

Laura’s hand, which has been resting gently on his shoulder, suddenly clenches his skin hard. “Alone?”

Clint finally meets her eyes and nods. He hates that he can see the fear written on her face, but for once, he doesn’t blame her for being so transparent.

“I trust what people are saying,” he says quietly, getting up from the bed and stretching. “Hydra’s back underground. They’re not going to attack again after everything that just happened.”

“Not outright,” Laura agrees, following him around the room. “But you don’t know who has an agenda here or not...and they could do it quietly, Clint. You could knock on someone’s door and the next thing you know, you could have a gun in your face.”

“And you think a Level Seven SHIELD agent can’t handle that?” Clint asks in frustration.

“I don’t think a bartender husband with two children can,” Laura snaps. “But please, keep reminding me that you spend a lot of time almost dying without thinking it’s a big deal.”

Clint lets out a long, soft breath and gathers his words carefully before he speaks again. “I don’t think you’re wrong about that,” he says quietly. “But I need to do this.”

“Because Natasha asked?” Laura presses, stepping closer. Clint shakes his head.

“Because of Loki,” he replies, stopping by the window opposite the bed, placing his hands against the back of Laura’s desk chair. “I fucked up in New York, Laura. I know I haven’t really told you how bad. I know you  _ know _ it was bad. But these people...the people who were turned onto this  _ cult _ thing, who were innocent…” He trails off, staring at the lawn, and his eyes water when they focus on Cooper’s discarded soccer ball. “They deserve some closure. From someone who knew them from the beginning. They deserve to know that the people they loved didn’t die for nothing. They had a life before Hydra that was worth it.”

Laura puts her hands around his waist, squeezing him tightly. “And us?”

Clint leans back against his wife’s body, letting her anchor him. “We’re safe. Remember? Nat told us that no one knows about the farm. It’s off the grid for a reason.”

“I still don’t like it.” Laura’s voice is hidden by the thick cotton of his shirt. “Can’t Natasha go by herself?” 

“You know she can’t,” Clint says, turning to face her. He traces a line down the side of her face. “Let me do this. And then I’ll come home, and we’ll pretend to be normal for a little bit. Okay?”

“Normal,” Laura mutters as she closes her eyes. “You know we’re not normal.”

Clint tries to smile. “We’re normal to me, and that’s what matters.” He kisses Laura on the side of the head, and holds her until she stops shaking.

***

 

Travel after SHIELD’s collapse is, understandably, annoying. There are no useable quinjets and even if Fury wasn’t underground and he was left defenseless with no resources, Clint would feel frustrated about his lack of options.

He’s got a list of names that are too long, but at least they’re all in one concentrated area, thanks to Natasha taking some pity on him. So he’s not entirely annoyed when she announces she’s driving, snatching the keys from his hands after they leave the house. 

“I can’t believe you like driving long distances,” Clint complains as they ease onto the highway.

“You’re acting like you’ve never been on a roadtrip before,” Natasha says as she starts driving. “When you’re the one who brought me into this domestic life. I almost don’t want to come home with you.”

“Laura would kill you,” Clint says smugly. “Actually, no. Lila would kill you.”

“I can’t believe you’re using your family to bribe me,” Natasha grumbles. “That’s just low.”

“Oh, please,” Clint scoffs. “You love it. Don’t even pretend.”

Natasha gives him a sideways glance, her eyes dipping downwards. “How was Laura with this?”

“With me going? Not great.” Clint toys with the hem of his shirt. “She’s worried that things will go to shit somehow.”

Natasha makes a face. “I don’t blame her. But she’s not wrong. It’s a risk, but I think it’s something we need to do.”

Clint nods, leaning his head back against the seat of the car. “Yeah. Wish it wasn’t, though.”

“No fucking shit,” Natasha mutters, and Clint winces in the passenger seat. Whatever had happened in Washington that he wasn’t there for, it had hit Natasha harder than he knew he could ever expect to understand.

“So we’re going to be the bad guys.”

“We’re going to try to be the good guys,” Natasha replies. “But yes, we’ll probably be seen as the bad guys. You know how this works. Is that a problem for you?”

Clint shakes his head and fishes his phone out of his pocket. He sends a quick text to Laura, then adds Natasha’s sentiments about missing her for good measure, even though she hasn’t said anything.

“Good,” Natasha continues grimly, pushing down on the gas pedal. “Because I don’t want this to be worse than it has to be.”

They lapse into easy silence as they drive; Natasha’s already plugged the directions of the SHIELD widow’s house into her GPS and for once, Clint doesn’t have to do anything but stay alert in case there’s a random lane change. He sticks his feet on the dashboard, rolling down the window.

“Someone’s learning,” Natasha deadpans as he kicks off his shoes, shoving his feet against the windshield.

“Learn from the best, Tasha.” He lets the breeze from the highway chill his face but doesn’t open his eyes. There was a time when he used to try to pay attention to everything around him and wonder how each part of the midwest was different, but once you got around to it, everything was pretty much the same. Same landscape, same speed limits, same boring sky. It wasn’t like he was going to miss anything if he zoned out. 

He’s nearly asleep by the time they get to the small ranch house set on a cul-de-sac off the beaten path, and as Clint gets out of the car, he feels suddenly old. It seems like ages since everything happened with Loki, and at the same time, it feels like everything happened yesterday. The fall of SHIELD had opened old wounds that Clint figured were already closed, and had opened them in a way that he wasn’t entirely happy with.  

“I’d say let me do the talking, but you’re the one who’s going to do the work here,” Natasha mutters as they approach the house. She rings the doorbell and Clint gives her a look, shifting his feet nervously. He tries to imagine he’s with Lila, bringing her to a friend’s house, or Cooper, waiting to ask about a fundraiser. A woman opens the door slowly, pale face and frizzled hair peeking out from between the cracks. 

“Yes?”

“Hi,” Natasha says, pushing hair off her forehead. 

The woman’s brow furrows. “Who are you?”

“Clint Barton,” Clint asserts, speaking up from beside Natasha. “I knew your husband.”

The door closes abruptly and then opens again, this time fully. Clint stares at the woman who he feels like he should remember from the few pictures he saw; Jim Webster wasn’t close to him by any means because Clint wasn’t close to anyone at SHIELD, particularly once he got out of the day-to-day life of the organization and more into the global sphere with Natasha, but he had still known him enough to laugh with him and joke with him and spar with him. 

“You knew my husband?”

“Yeah,” Clint continues. “We worked together at SHIELD.”

The woman’s eyebrows shoot up. “SHIELD,” she repeats tersely.

Clint nods. “Yeah. Uh. We worked together in New York. He was always really nice to me.” He pauses, unsure how to continue, and the woman stares at him.

“So you came to tell me that he didn’t die for nothing?”

“He didn’t,” Clint repeats, though it feels like an empty admission. “I know Hydra, and I know what it feels like --”

“Do you?” The woman regards him with narrowed eyes. “Clint Barton, yes? Hawkeye. You’re the same person who shot SHIELD agents in cold blood during the Battle of New York in 2012. We all know what happened to Agent Coulson, and you’re telling me that you know what it feels like to lose someone you love for no reason?”

Clint can’t figure out what to say, and Natasha’s exhales suddenly become loud in the resulting quiet. “It wasn’t for any reason,” Clint manages, regaining his composure. “He was a good guy. I just wanted you to know that, from someone that knew him.” He nods quickly. “I’m sorry for taking up your time.”

It feels like he can’t get away fast enough, and as he turns and walks down the steps, he doesn’t wait to see whether or not Natasha will follow. By the time he’s back at the car, Natasha’s at the door on the driver’s side, opening it. They both slide in without a word.

“Goddammit!”

Clint slams his hand against the dashboard, but Natasha doesn’t flinch. She remains still, and then puts her hands on the wheel.

“It’s okay.”

“It’s  _ not _ okay,” Clint argues, resting his head against the seat. “This was a stupid idea. I don’t know why I agreed.”

Natasha swallows. “Because I thought it would help...and because people deserve closure, if they can have it.” She pauses. “I think --”

“You  _ think _ , but you don’t know what you’re making people relive with their families,” Clint bursts out. He immediately feels bad when Natasha bows her head, looking at the floor of the car, obviously hurt by something in his words. Clint’s eyes narrow, the anger ebbing out of him as he watches her stance change.

“What happened out there, Nat?”

Natasha raises her head and stares out the window. “A lot of things. I’m not ready to talk about it.”

“I won’t tell Laura,” he says, and Natasha yanks her hand away as he reaches for it.

“You think that makes it any better? I told you, I don’t want to talk about it. Okay?”

Clint can hear the danger and sharpness in her voice, and decides to back off. They’re both on edge for different reasons right now, and he’s not really in the mood to start a fight.

“I know you want me to do more of these,” he says when he speaks again. “I know I’m probably supposed to. And I know why you think it’s important. But I can’t do this. I just want to go home.”

Natasha continues to stare out the window and blinks rapidly, as if she’s trying to keep herself from crying, even though Clint knows she’d never let herself break that easily. 

“Yeah,” she agrees, turning the key in the ignition. “Let’s go home.”

***

 

By the time they return to the farm, it’s late enough that the sky is dark and spotted with stars. Natasha turns the engine off and Clint can tell she’s tired, but he knows it’s not just because of the drive.

“Hey,” he says when they get out of the car. Natasha turns and Clint opens his arms, expecting her to hesitate or shy away. Instead, she steps forward almost immediately.

“Whatever happened, you talk when you’re ready. To me, to Laura. We’ll listen. Okay?”

Natasha nods before pulling back and kissing him. She walks towards the house and Clint follows her up the porch steps slowly, letting Natasha hang behind as he sticks the key into the lock.

Laura is sitting on the couch -- glasses on, book open, hair pulled over one shoulder -- and Clint stops as he walks in, suddenly struck with how beautiful she looks. His heart aches at the realization of how lucky he is to be able to come home to this every day, that even when he fucks up, she  _ still _ lets him come home.

“Clint?” Laura looks up with a furrowed brow, the crease between her eyes thickening. “Nat? What are you doing home?”

“The visits, uh...didn’t go as planned,” Clint admits as Natasha closes the door behind her. Laura gets up from the couch, folding her arms over her chest.

“What do you mean?”

“It was just a bad idea. It was a nice idea, but it was a bad idea.” He lets the tone of his voice say what his features can’t as he walks into the kitchen. Laura follows him, clearing her throat softly. 

“Lila’s up, if you want to say goodnight.”

Clint turns around in surprise and Laura sighs. “She wouldn’t go to sleep until you got home,” Laura continues. “I let her sleep in our bed so she would at least lie down. She’s still awake.”

Clint glances over, watching as Natasha sits down on the couch. “She’ll ask for Nat.”

“You’re her father, she’ll ask for you first.”

Clint bites down on his bottom lip. “It’s just --”

“It’s just, what?” Laura looks annoyed. “You’re worried you can’t handle it? Clint, you’re my husband and if there’s one thing you can do better than anything else, it’s talk to your children.”

She’s right, he realizes, his heart aching. For better or for worse, Lila and Cooper were what kept him sane in and out of the field. Having the grounding of his family -- not just Laura and the farm, but also those little voices that said they loved him, that asked for him no matter what he’s done in a day -- had always made the difference. 

“Will you --”

“I’ll stay with Nat,” Laura confirms quietly, and Clint doesn’t bother to wonder how Laura can tell that something is off. He’d laugh if he didn’t know his wife knew Natasha as well as he did.

“Thanks.”

Laura smiles and kisses him gently. Clint climbs the stairs slowly, pausing at the top before walking to the bedroom and opening the door. Lila’s curled up on Laura’s side of the bed, thumb in her mouth, hair obscuring her cheek.

“Hi daddy.”

“Hi, Lila baby.” He walks to the bed and sits down, leaning over to kiss her.

“Did you have a good day?”

Clint brushes hair back from her forehead, trying to figure out how to answer. “I had a day where I had to do my job.”

“Isn’t that every day?” Lila asks in a small voice. 

Clint laughs under his breath. “Yeah, sweetheart. It is.” He tangles his fingers in her long hair. “It’s just that today was a little longer than usual.”

“Oh.” Lila bends her head, doubling her chin. “I wanted you to come back. Do you wanna sleep with me?”

Clint rubs her leg with his other hand and nods. “You know what? I think I do.” He climbs over her and lies down, wrapping his arms around her body gently. Lila giggles quietly when Clint leans over to blow on her ear.

“You know I love you, right?”

“An’ mommy and Auntie Nat, too.”

Clint closes his eyes, exhaling slowly. “Yeah. Mommy and Auntie Nat too.”


	3. Chapter 3

It’s not Clint’s fault that everything comes to a head when he’s not expecting it. But Natasha actually being at the house after so many conversations about the true nature of their partnership feels confusing in more ways than one, plus, Clint feels guilty -- he knows that if he hadn’t gotten hurt so badly, he might have held Natasha at arm’s length from the farm even longer. Which, he realizes, is pretty ridiculous.

Despite his injury, he’s attempted to pay attention to Laura and Natasha’s interactions. He trusted Laura to at least be civil to his partner; almost dying had shaken her up enough that Clint knows she’s more vulnerable than usual and therefore more amenable to random strangers who he only told her about in vague terms. He wasn't exactly sure how Natasha would handle being in an environment that’s so domestic and (for lack of better word) warm, but he has to admit he’s been surprised at the way she’s fit herself into his life, albeit a little awkwardly.

Even though Clint can’t do more than move from one room to the other without help, the daily life at the farm doesn’t and can’t stop -- there are still meals to make and errands to run and chores to do and a messy toddler to take care of. Laura has taken to leaving Clint and Natasha alone while she tries to take care of everything single-handedly, and Clint tries comfort himself with the fact that he at least trusts Natasha enough to leave her alone with the knowledge that if Natasha _really_ wanted to fuck things up, Clint wasn’t in any condition to stop her.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Clint asks as Natasha drops the bottle of medication into his lap unceremoniously.

Natasha smirks. “Maybe. It’s kind of fun knowing that I have full control over you. I can be as nice or as mean as I want.”

“Remind me again why I put my career on the line for you,” Clint mutters, but there’s a clear teasing in his voice that he’s a little proud of. It’s taken him months to get to a point where he felt like joking with Natasha was something he could do without getting shot.

“Well, let’s not make it awkward,” Natasha replies dryly. “I already feel like Laura has no idea what to do with me here. It’s not like I can babysit your son.”

“Maybe things would be less awkward if you stopped randomly leaving so much,” Clint points out as he downs the pain pills without water. Natasha clears her throat quietly in the silence that follows.

“And if you stopped hiding me.”

“What?” Clint tries to move and Natasha rushes forward, holding him gently so he can shift without hurting himself. “I’m not --”

“Clint, come on. Admit it. The only reason I even met your wife was because you got hurt and I was forced to take you home because you were a stubborn dumbass who wouldn’t go to a hospital. When were you planning on introducing me to your life here?”

“I don’t know,” Clint admits with a sigh, realizing he has no accurate answer. “Maybe never.”

When Natasha gives him a look, he groans.

“Don’t look at me like that. You know I like keeping these things separate, okay?"

"Things," Natasha repeats curtly. "What the hell do you mean by _things_?"

"You know," Clint answers. " _Things_. Our life, our routines, our work, my feelings for you --”

He’s fueled by frustration and exhaustion and doesn’t mean to say the last part out loud, cutting himself off when he realizes what he’s let slip.

“Shit.”

Natasha’s gone perfectly still next to him. “Clint?”

He feels sweat breaking out over his face and as he wonders if he’s going to pass out again, Natasha puts a hand on his leg.

“Hey, come on. I told Laura we could handle things here, and I can’t have you ending up on the floor for the second time in weeks,” she reminds him evenly, using a voice that Clint knows she only pulls out when she’s trying to calm him down. He takes a few deep breaths, his injury throbbing more than usual, and then meets her eyes.

“You have feelings for me,” Natasha confirms after a pause, her face set in a look that's more serious than he’s seen in a long time. “What _kind_ of feelings, exactly?”

Clint exhales slowly. “I don’t know,” he admits. “I think about you more than a partner, though. I’m...I look at you in a different way. Not just when we spar, but when we work together, when we sleep --”

“Watching people sleep is creepy,” Natasha breaks in, but her tone is soft. “Clint...I don’t know what to say right now, except that we’re sitting in your house, and you’re telling me this.”

Clint nods. “Yeah,” he says, feeling entirely crappy. “Maybe we should like, transfer partners or something.”

“Oh, that’s your answer.” Natasha looks annoyed, and Clint throws up his hands.

“What the hell am I _supposed_ to suggest? This isn’t exactly in the SHIELD handbook, Nat! They don’t give you a crash course on what to do if you like your partner but you’re also married.”

Natasha places both hands on her knees, looking contemplative, like she wants to ask something she’s not sure she wants a solid answer to. Finally, she speaks again.

“How long?”

Clint swallows and looks at the ground. “Probably a few months ago,” he says slowly. “I don’t really know when it started. I just know what it feels like right now. And Laura’s got no idea, I can’t tell her.”

“Maybe you don’t need to tell her,” Natasha says, uncertainty coloring her voice. “Maybe...maybe we can just keep it to ourselves.”

Clint snorts and then winces at the pain it causes him. “Yeah, fat chance. You should’ve seen the conversations that went on when we first brought you in and Fury made me sign all this stuff so I couldn’t tell Laura what I was doing with you. She’s not exactly dumb when it comes to me sneaking around with work.”

“I didn’t say she was,” Natasha replies. “But I'm guessing that you saying that you’re attracted to me will result in Laura not wanting to send you back to SHIELD, and personally, I’d rather not lose my partner.”

Clint blinks fast, and Natasha looks puzzled at his expression.

“What?”

“You said partner,” he says with a small smile, warmth spreading through his bones.

Natasha gives him a skeptical look. “I’ve called you my partner before, _Barton_.”

Clint shakes his head. “Not like you mean it.”

“Well, it’s not my fault I just got told that my _partner_ is in love with me,” she retorts. “So I figure calling you that is the least I can do right now.”

Clint swallows as the weight of her words hit home. He still feels clammy and uncomfortable, and his face is heating up so quickly he wonders if he’s getting sick again. It’s not like it would be out of the ordinary for his infection to come back.

“Clint.” Natasha’s voice breaks his thoughts, quiet and firm. “Even if you don’t do it today or next week, you need to tell Laura.”

“No,” he replies almost immediately. “I don’t.”

“Okay,” Natasha says, clearly irritated. “Then you need to figure out what the hell these feelings are. Because it’ll fuck everything up at work if you let yourself sit on this.”

Clint opens his mouth to protest that, because he knows he can function just fine in the field and put his emotional thoughts behind him -- that, at least, he had confidence in. But he also knows what Natasha means. He could compromise both of them if they were in trouble and he was clouded in judgement based on his feelings towards her, not to mention how he could potentially act when they were out of the field, given the amount of time they spent together on a daily basis.

“Can’t we just...pretend that we’re just friends?”

“Not if you’ve already told me you think of me as more than that,” Natasha says firmly. “I can’t be in the middle of this. I like Laura, Clint. I like your family. And I like you, too.”

For a moment, Clint lets himself believe that maybe Natasha means it the way he does -- that she likes him a little more than just someone she's beginning to trust with her life. He immediately pushes that thought to the side because he knows he shouldn’t even hope that’s something that she feels; it was bad enough that he admitted he thought of _Natasha_ in that way. 

Natasha smiles at him, looking at little sad, and Clint sighs. He could ask -- he wants to ask -- but he’s not going to. There wasn't a chance in hell that this would ever be anything more than him and Natasha working together in a way that only came with knowing how close you could get to death in this job.

“I’ll figure it out.”

Natasha side-eyes his words, and he shrugs loosely.

“I will. Don’t worry about me.”

“Worrying about you has become part of my job description,” Natasha replies. “Unless you want to dispute _more_ things today that you know are true.”

Clint laughs, even though the emotion hurts in more ways than one. “Can’t argue with that.”


	4. Chapter 4

Natasha would be lying if she didn't admit that pretending to live at the farm made her feel good.

It’s pretending, only because she doesn’t  _ actually _ live there. Her room is still her room, and she knows where Laura and Clint keep everything specific, from their silverware to Clint’s weapons to Cooper’s sports equipment. But she spends more time at the farm than she does anywhere else, and her room at SHIELD headquarters is probably the only other place where she’s made somewhat of a home for herself. She doesn’t dare open her mouth about how she feels, because she knows Laura will probably try to sway her to staying and living here again, and, well -– Natasha still isn’t sure that she’s ready for that. So she simply pretends, running errands and cooking dinner and helping Laura with chores around the house when Clint’s out and she’s too exhausted to do it herself.

“What happened to you?” Natasha asks one afternoon when she returns from an unexpected day away to run some tests that Hill had sent over to one of the SHIELD field offices. Clint meets her halfway down the stairs as she closes the door, his hair messier than usual and his long blue shirt stained with an ugly pale odor.

“Upset stomach,” Clint says with a grimace, tearing off his shirt to expose some new bruises on his torso. “Lila’s been a mess all day. Threw up on the way to school, on the way  _ back _ from school, in the kitchen sink…and of course, all she wants to do is eat, which isn’t going to happen.”

“She can’t  _ not _ eat,” Natasha reminds him, and Clint glares at her.

“You think I don’t know that? I’d just prefer to stop cleaning up vomit every five seconds.”

Natasha sighs as Clint walks down the stairs and into the kitchen, grabbing a sippy cup from the fridge. “Feel free to make yourself at home,” he says warily, gesturing towards the couch as he passes her. “I’m going to try to get her to sleep soon.”

Natasha nods, taking off her coat and putting her bag on the floor. With the exception of Clint’s footsteps against the stairs, disappearing into the upper landing, the house is quieter than usual. The timing of the day indicates that Laura’s out, some sort of weekly school meeting or appointment she couldn’t get away from, and she figures Cooper is holed up somewhere doing homework. She settles back against the worn cushions, smiling as her back sinks into the well-loved fabric, settling into a groove that she’s placed there herself after so many hours in the same spot. She likes that –- having things of her own. Especially here.

“Is Cooper here?” Natasha gets up and watches as Clint walks down the stairs roughly half an hour later, realizing that aside from the washing machine she hasn't heard any other sounds in awhile. Clint shakes his head.

“Sent him to a friend’s house when she started getting sick. Kind of a cop-out, but it’s just easier. When they were kids, Laura would pass them off all the time to her mom if they both got sick.”

“I remember,” Natasha says a little indignantly, because while she knows she came into their lives well after Cooper was born, it wasn’t like she didn’t know the ins and outs of their family history by now. Clint looks a little startled, and then apologetic.

“Course you do. I repeat myself all the time...I’m an old man, Tasha.”

Natasha rolls her eyes, throwing him a small grin as he flops down on the couch, effectively taking her spot.

“How’s Laura doing?”

“Good,” Clint says, closing his eyes. “Pregnancy's making her tired. Like, she’s more tired than she’s been with the last two.”

“Well, every pregnancy is different,” Natasha offers. “And she has two children to take care of on a regular basis. Plus a husband who goes off and gets hurt a lot --”

“And a girlfriend or semi-girlfriend or whatever you wanna call yourself who does the same thing, so don’t push the blame for this on me,” Clint replies with a grunt. “All I did was have sex.”

Natasha curbs another smile, knowing that there’s no way she’s getting a seat on the couch if Clint’s not moving. She decides to take the large chair in the corner instead but before she can sit down, a scuffling sound from upstairs causes her ears to perk up. Clint, having obviously sensed the same noise, groans again as he rouses himself off the couch.

“Let me go see,” Natasha says, stopping him with a hand on his shoulder and walking to the stairs. She doesn’t have to go far; Lila’s sitting in the middle of the steps near the top of the landing, looking down at what Natasha realizes is another mess.

“I threwed up,” Lila says in a small voice as Natasha crouches down in front of her. She surveys the mess which, despite its odor and yellowish tint, looks like nothing more than the water or juice she figures Clint had tried to give her earlier.

“It’s okay,” Natasha decides, picking her up easily. “We’re going to get you changed and then clean up, alright?”

She brings Lila into the bathroom and sits her on the toilet seat, removing her sweaty clothes and helping her wash her mouth out. After changing her into a new nightgown, she gets supplies from underneath the bathroom sink and cleans the stairs as much as she can, giving a silent prayer of thanks that in all of Clint’s home improvement ideas, he never once thought to carpet the steps despite having two children.  When she walks back into the room, Lila is lying on her bed with her thumb stuck in her mouth. 

“I asked daddy to make you come and then you came like magic,” she says, her face pressed into the pillow.

“I heard you from all the way across the ocean,” Natasha replies, holding her arms wide to exaggerate as she sits down on the floor. In an instant, Lila’s out of bed, walking to Natasha and curling into her side.  Natasha smiles and puts her hand on Lila’s head, letting herself get comfortable as she backs against Cooper’s bed frame. Within minutes, lulled by her breathing, she feels herself growing tired and suddenly regrets making fun of Clint for being old. She hadn’t even done anything strenuous except travel, and she was  _ used _ to that.

When she opens her eyes again, the room is dark, and she's being kissing her gently. Natasha blinks herself awake, taking in Laura’s smile.

“Hi.”

“Hi yourself,” Natasha replies hoarsely, trying to move, realizing her left arm and leg is numb. Lila’s still asleep next to her, her head pressed into Natasha’s abdomen.

“I should’ve gotten home earlier. I didn’t know you were here, and Clint told me he was handling her.”

Natasha shakes her head. “Don’t worry about it. I didn’t get a chance to call.”

“And yet, I’m used to it,” Laura says, sitting down on the other side of her and sighing softly. Natasha reaches out with her unoccupied arm and brushes her fingers against Laura’s stomach.

“How is she?”

“You still think it’s a she, don’t you?” Laura asks with a small smile. She pushes hair back from Natasha’s forehead. “Ever think we might have another boy?”

“I’m willing to make a bet,” Natasha replies. “And I have pretty good instincts.” 

“You do,” Laura acknowledges, nodding towards Lila. “How is  _ she _ ?”

“According to Clint, she’s been throwing up all day. But now she seems okay.” Natasha looks down and manages to extract her arm without moving too much. “I’m sorry.”

Laura blinks in confusion. “Sorry for what?”

“Because this isn’t very romantic,” Natasha admits. “A sick kid, me sitting on the floor...Clint’s asleep on the couch --”

“He definitely is,” Laura interrupts. “I could hear him snoring from outside the house.” She smiles and looks down, entwining their fingers. “But marriage isn’t romantic, Nat. Maybe the first few days are, when you’re getting used to living together and having all those moments. But after that it’s just...normal. And sometimes the romantic moments are the boring, non-romantic ones. Like watching the woman you love sit in your house and sleep with her daughter.”

Natasha swallows past a lump in her throat. “God, you’re so sappy,” she says finally, when she feels like she can talk without showing all of her emotions. “Please make sure that no matter how much I kiss you, I'll never get this domestic, okay?”

Laura laughs quietly and brings her fingers to her lips, kissing Natasha’s skin gently. 

“Deal.”


	5. Chapter 5

Several months before Cooper is born, Laura wakes up in the middle of the night due to cramping pains and a series of swift, solid kicks. Once the fleeting panic of worrying that something is wrong passes, the annoyance of being awake sets in and she knows by the strength of the continued kicking that she’s not getting back to sleep anytime soon. She sits up slowly, holding her stomach as her back screams, surprised to find herself alone in bed.

She checks the small clock by the bedside, noticing it’s past three and well past the time Clint should have gotten home from the bar. The worry creeps back in and as she gets out of bed she notices it’s raining, splatters of water hitting the roof with harsh force and slipping down the window panes.

Laura walks down the hall, being careful not to bump into anything or trip over any loose floorboards, and blinks in surprise when she finds Clint sitting on the couch in the living room. He looks up as she approaches, seeming equally surprised -- and, Laura thinks, perhaps a little guilty at being discovered.

“Why are you up?”

“I have a baby dancing my uterus who doesn’t know the meaning of night and day,” Laura responds crankily. “Why are _you_ up?”

Clint waves his hand around. “The rain woke me up.”

“Really,” Laura deadpans, not buying his answer. “Because you were so tired after coming home from the bar, you passed out and woke up only when the storm started?”

Clint’s eyes turn towards the floor and Laura sighs, joining him on the couch. She entwines their fingers together, squeezing his hand.

“You wanna talk about it?”

Clint huffs out a breath and slumps back onto the cushions. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” Laura replies automatically.

“And can I ask you to answer just...as you?”

“As me,” Laura repeats, furrowing her brow. She winces as the baby kicks again.

“I mean, as you. As Laura Foster. Not as my wife or the person who's supposed to keep me positive and support me.”

Laura lets go of Clint’s hand and puts her palm against his face, turning it towards her slowly. “Yes,” she says softly. “I can.”

Clint lets out a shaky sigh and sits in silence as the rain continues to come down a little harder. “Am I going to be good at this job?”

Laura inclines her head. “Which job? Being a dad, or being a super secret agent person?”

Clint manages to laugh, the raspy sound reverberating throughout the room. “Both.”

Laura sees the fear in his eyes that he’s not bothering to hide and whether it’s raging hormones or just the fact that she knows him too damn well, she finds her eyes filling up with tears. She forces them them back with a few quick blinks.

“Clint, do you know what I saw the first time I met you?”

“A bartender who could make really good drinks and had a nice head of hair?”

Laura slides her hand down the side of his face and lays her head on his shoulder, relaxing against him. “I saw someone who was genuine,” she continues, keeping her voice soft. “Someone who cared about other people. I didn’t talk with you and stay with you that night because you were good at darts and because you made me good drinks. I stayed and talked because I felt like you were someone worth knowing. You made me feel special.” She pauses, running her fingers lightly over her stomach. “He’s going to believe you’re someone worth knowing, too. I’ve never doubted that.”

Clint puts a hand on top of her palm. “I asked you to tell me things --”

“As a person, not your wife,” Laura interrupts. “I know. And I did. I answered as a person, because I remember what I felt before I knew who you were and how you would treat me. And I know our lives have changed since that night, but _you_ haven’t changed.”

“Laura --”

“Yes, Clint. I know you won't beileve me, but your answer is yes -- I think you’re going to be an excellent father. And a good agent, or...or whatever it is that they’re having you do in this place.” She kisses him on the neck. “Why are you having such a hard time believing that?”

Clint hesitates and Laura feels his breath hitch. “I don’t know,” he says slowly. “I just...I guess I was thinking too much and I got scared. I know I act all tough, but sometimes I get scared, okay?”

“And you think I don’t?” Laura wants to laugh but bites back on the sound, knowing he could potentially take it the wrong way. “Clint, I’m...I’m terrified to have this baby. I’m terrified that I’m not going to be a good mother, or that I’m going to mess up, and that’s not even including how worried I am about something going wrong during the pregnancy or afterwards.”

“Yeah?” Clint gives her a somewhat relieved look. “I mean, I know we talked about being scared at the ultrasound and all that...but you...you’re worried about the same things?”

“Well, not the exact same things," Laura admits. "I'm not going to another state to take a secret job from a strange person. But this is the biggest thing we’ve ever done together. Getting married was exciting and life-changing, and moving in together was an entirely new experience. But bringing a life into the world...being parents for the first time…” Laura trails off. “Nothing prepares you for that. And it’s scary, and I know that. You don't have to feel ashamed of telling me that.”

“And my job?” Clint asks pointedly. 

Laura sighs. “I don’t know,” she says. “I hadn't exactly planned for being alone during some of this. But I'd never tell you not to do something if I believed you were meant to do it. Maybe this is what you need. The money can't hurt. And who knows...maybe this will change our lives in another way that we don’t even know.”

“Yeah,” Clint mutters. “Maybe I’ll find some random girl to bring home just so we can keep things interesting around here.”

“Oh, don’t joke,” Laura mutters back with a yawn. “You would.” She snuggles back into him, feeling lulled by the rain and the warmth of his body. 

“You still being attacked?” Clint asks in a low voice. Laura shakes her head. 

“I think he tired himself out. At least for now.”

“Small miracles,” Clint decides, burying his face in her hair. “You smell like that gross shampoo.”

“And _you_ smell like a bar,” Laura responds, nuzzling his skin. She smiles to herself. “You know, it’s kind of nice to see you fall apart every once in awhile.”

“Yeah?” Clint grunts. “I don’t sound too needy?”

“No,” Laura says. “I like when you’re vulnerable. Just promise me you won’t make a habit of it. I need the guy who’s my rock every now and then.”

Clint laughs and kisses her. “In that case, I guess I can try.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been trying to get something up pre Infinity War but apparently I can't seem to be able to write anything I like for a new story, and the only thing I can write are small moments in this universe, so...enjoy, y'all.

Natasha never thought she’d actually like the intricacies of domestic life outside of the time she spent at the farm. Tolerate, sure. Enjoy, maybe. But as much as she knew she liked being with Clint and Laura, as much as she loved waking up to fresh coffee and warmed blueberry scones and winter winds, she would’ve never imagined she’d find the act of dropping off a hyperactive six-year-old downright calming.

“This is my favorite part of the day,” Clint reveals as they approach the farm on their way back, Natasha sitting in the seat next to him, fiddling with the sleeve of her shirt. “Four -- _at least_ four, _maybe_ five glorious hours of uninterrupted child care, because someone else gets to watch him run around and make sure he doesn’t cut his head open.”

“And here I thought you liked your kid,” Natasha teases dryly. “It was all a ploy to get Laura to have sex with you, wasn’t it?”

“You got me,” Clint replies with an easy smile, slowing the car as it bumps along the dirt driveway. As he turns the wheel, Natasha notices him flinching sharply, as if he’s been shocked.

“Shit,” Clint mutters when he lets go of the wheel long enough to pick it up, shoving the car into park. Natasha gives him a confused glance, watching him slide his cell phone out of his pocket and silence the buzzing that's started to occur.

“What?”

“Laura -- I was supposed to pick up stuff for dinner while I was out -- that alarm was to remind me.”

“Well, if it was meant to remind you while you were out, you unimaginably failed," Natasha says, glancing down and realizing Clint must have set the alarm notification to go off an hour later than he probably meant to. She can't help but smile despite knowing how annoyed he is, because classically dad-frazzled Clint was quickly becoming her favorite kind of Clint. “Can’t you go later?”

“And deal with _that_?” Clint jerks his thumb towards the house. “No way. If I walk through the door empty-handed, she’ll take my bow and shoot me.” He sighs, leaning back in the seat. “I’ll go back out. I’ve got the time anyway. You okay with hanging around?”

“Seriously?” Natasha’s caught off guard by his question, and Clint shrugs.

“Well, I mean...I figured there’s no reason for both of us to go. I’m just picking up a few things from the store. But if you’re not really comfortable or something --”

“No,” Natasha interrupts, feeling a little irked that he would insinuate she would find being alone in his house awkward, given that Laura had gone so far as to ask both of them to be there when she gave birth. “It’s fine. I’m sure I can amuse myself.”

“Hey, enjoy being with a pregnant woman who only craves ice cream at three in the morning and no other time ever,” Clint says with a wistful sigh. “Actually, enjoy not having a child run up and down the stairs every five seconds, It’s something I only dream of.”

“Oh, please.” Natasha rolls her eyes. “You’re on the road so much anyway, you don’t get it half as bad as Laura does.”

Clint makes a face. “I did love you, you know. Before you insulted me.”

“Hmmm.” Natasha leans over and kisses him. “I’ll try to believe it.”

She opens the door and gets out, waving as Clint starts the engine again and backs up. When the car is far away enough down the road, she turns and starts towards the house, using her key to open the door. As she pushes it in, she’s struck with surprise at how quiet it is. She thinks of Clint’s words and supposes she’s never really paid much attention to things when Cooper wasn’t around; he tended to be there more often than not and Natasha was aware of how calm the house could be when he was sleeping or engrossed in a book, but there’s a distinct difference. She’s hyper-aware of every footstep that puts pressure on the creaking hardwood floor, her slow breathing that echoes in the space of the living room, the soft noises from upstairs that become louder as she gets closer to Laura’s room. She opens the bedroom door slowly, and is greeted with Laura's back and the very loud exclamation of “ _FUCK_!”

Laura’s standing in the middle of the room, staring down at something Natasha can’t see, and Natasha suddenly feels like she’s intruded on a private moment that she’s not allowed to be privy to.

“Um.”

Laura turns around as she speaks, her eyes widening when she sees Natasha. She’s dressed in a long flowered shirt that does a pretty good job of hiding her growing middle, but Natasha’s easily able to see what she assumes has caused Laura’s reaction -- the top of her jeans unbuttoned and hanging off, looking worn.

“I -- I can come back.”

“Don’t be silly,” Laura says, shaking her head. “You can stay.”

Natasha nods and walks further into the room, sitting down on the bed. Laura sighs quietly.

“This is the third pair of jeans I’ve broken or refused to fit into this week,” she says mournfully as she joins Natasha. “I wore these with Cooper and had no problem...clearly, I’m either getting bigger or I’m carrying a jumbotron instead of a girl.” She pauses, putting her hand on Natasha’s leg. “I’m sorry I lashed out. I didn’t know you were there.”

Natasha gives a small smile. “You do realize you’re six months pregnant and apologizing for something stupid, right? I don’t think you need to worry about offending me.”

Laura smiles back, her grin genuine despite the lingering tiredness Natasha can see in her eyes. “They say second pregnancies are easier, because you’ve probably experienced it all before.” She motions to her swollen belly. “But this one’s kicking me in the ass. I’m exhausted, I'm nauseous, I’ve got cramps for days...forget about seeing my feet or apparently fitting into my maternity clothes.”

“I guess everything is a different experience,” Natasha says slowly, finding herself feeling more comfortable the longer Laura leaves her hand on her leg, her palm a warm and comforting weight. “Even motherhood.” She gets up and puts her fingers on Laura’s waist gently, hooking her thumbs into her sagging jeans. Laura shifts as much as she can, allowing Natasha to pull off her pants, and sighs in contentment when she’s finally free of the offending clothing.

“Motherhood was the hardest thing I’ve ever done,” Laura admits. “No thanks to the fact that I did most of it alone since Clint had just started at SHIELD.”

Natasha freezes with Laura’s jeans in her hands, and clutches the faded denim more tightly. “I wish I would’ve known what he was going through.”

“No you don’t,” Laura says automatically.

Natasha meets her eyes and raises a brow. “I don’t?”

“No,” Laura repeats. “Because if I let you think that you should’ve known what Clint had to deal with while he was starting his job, you’ll find some way to blame yourself for him not being around as much as I wish he was.”

The words are gentle, not meant to imply any kind of pointed jab, but Natasha can’t help the guilt that springs into her gut. “You blame me anyway,” she says quietly, and somehow, saying out loud isn’t as bad as she expects. “It’s okay. I’m used to being the person who fucks things up for everyone else.”

“I did blame you,” Laura admits. “But I think you know I felt that way. I also didn’t know everything that was going on. Clint couldn't tell me, so I spent a lot of time in the dark for awhile. And when you’re growing a child inside of you and have been promised a partner, it’s a very hard thing to understand -- your husband spending so much of his time and energy on someone and something else that seems more important.”

“But you were always so good about it,” Natasha says. “I mean...you were so supportive and wonderful, and I couldn’t --”

“I knew Clint loved me,” Laura breaks in. “I never, ever questioned that and I'm sure that helped, because I was able to always hold onto that. But --”

“But you didn’t sign up for this kind of life,” Natasha finishes.

Laura looks down at her stomach and puts a hand on top of her belly. “No. I didn’t sign up for this life. I didn’t know what I was getting into when Clint took this job. Sometimes, I feel like I still don’t,” she adds with a short laugh. “I mean, I thought I was marrying a bartender who would work odd jobs and be home to make dinner with me and work on fixing a house. Instead, I got a secret agent who's away every other week, who uses a codename that means something about our marriage...and hardly anyone knows about me in that other life except for a handful of people.”

“You got Clint,” Natasha says, putting her head on Laura’s shoulder. “Someone who would give the world for you if he could...and he does.” She closes her eyes, breathing in Laura’s scent. “And you got me.”

“And I’ve got you,” Laura echoes softly. “That’s why I wanted you to be in the room with us during the birth, you know. Because it feels like...it’s starting to feel like there’s more to me than just Clint. There’s something that’s incomplete when you’re not here. I can’t explain it, but it’s there. And I don't want to ignore it. I can't.”

Natasha opens her eyes and puts her lower lip between her teeth. “You know I can’t stay here,” she says, shifting so that she’s pressed up more firmly against her side. “Even if I’m here the way you want me to be.”

“I know. But that doesn’t mean I can’t love you,” Laura says, putting her free arm around Natasha’s shoulder and kissing the side of her head.

Natasha smiles. “And that doesn’t mean I can’t love you back.”


	7. Chapter 7

Natasha sits on the porch, hands folded serenely on her lap, staring out at the milky sky.

It’s quiet at the farm, and it has been for awhile. Usually there’s some measure of cacophony related to Clint or Laura or their children, but tonight, the air outside and inside the house is eerily silent, as if the entire world is walking on eggshells. Natasha supposes that it is.

She plays with her hands; she can count on the fingers of one of them how many things she’s kept from Clint in the entire time she’s known him. Of course, she counts from when she started to _really_ trust him, because she figures that anything before she brought him home broken and bleeding didn’t count. Still, even then it’s a small number. Oksana was one, and maybe the only big one.

Right now, Coulson was another.

Despite what her mind liked to tell her, she’d been okay with letting Clint go home alone. She’d tried not to worry; she’d even talked herself out of thinking she was making the wrong choice by not being there while he tried to repair his mind, find his way back to Laura and Cooper and Lila, be the dad and husband they had always known him as. As hard as she tried to put her feelings aside, she knew she wasn’t a part of his family in that way. Not really. He needed to have normalcy, and that normalcy included one spouse -- not an added partner who felt like she was inserting herself into their marriage even though she was given every right to do so.

“Nat?” Laura opens the door behind her and Natasha takes a breath, letting the warm smells of homemade pasta sauce waft through the open space between them. “I’ve got dinner almost ready, if you want to come inside.”

Natasha nods. “In a minute,” she says, forcing out a smile that she feels is far too fake. Laura’s either too distracted by everything going on or she’s too kind to press Natasha about something being off, because she simply nods and smiles back before disappearing inside. Natasha exhales as the door closes, slowing her breathing, staring into the distance as a shape emerges from down the road. As she watches, it gets closer with each heavy step, as if walking is a burden that’s too much to handle.

“Hey.” Natasha pulls her legs to her chest as Clint approaches. “How was your walk?”

“Fine,” Clint says, his voice monotone and unenthusiastic. “No one jumped out at me or anything.”

“I didn’t expect anyone to,” Natasha replies lightly. “Except for maybe a rabbit or something.” She reaches over and takes his hand, rubbing her fingers over the back of his palm. Clint looks over at her and frowns, and Natasha realizes she’s arched in a way that’s clearly taking the pressure off still-healing injuries.

“How are your ribs?”

“I’m fine,” she says a little too quickly.

Clint snorts out a laugh. “Yeah. We’re all fine.”

Natasha lets go of his hand, unsure what to say. There was going to be no easy way to do this, but she needed to do it before he found out some other way. Before Fury called or Maria showed up, before Laura got some call from SHIELD, before he saw it on the news via some terrible programming, before her guilt about the whole thing ate her alive because she had never ever kept something terrible like this from him before --

“Clint, I need to talk to you about Coulson.”

“Yeah,” Clint repeats, his voice harboring the same flat tone. “What’d the guy do now? Is he already bugging me to come back, even though Fury’s put me on this mandated leave? Does he want me to make his coffee different because we survived the end of the world?”

Air catches in Natasha’s throat and she shakes her head. “No. I need…”

Fuck, there really was no way to do this other than ripping the bandaid off. She suddenly realizes therapists must have it a lot harder than she ever thought, and feels bad for assuming their jobs were meaningless.

“Coulson’s dead.”

Clint turns his head again so he can meet her eyes fully and Natasha keeps her face impassive, holding her breath. She waits for some sort of response -- anger, denial, surprise -- but his features hold the same blank stare.

“Is that the new practice now? Going into hiding and pretending to be dead so we don’t get joysticked by rogue gods?”

Natasha’s heart aches with a pulsating pain as he talks. “No, Clint.” She takes his hand again, squeezing it gently. “He’s dead. He died during the fight on the helicarrier -- the fight I had with you when you were being held prisoner by Loki, and when the Hulk got loose and Loki got free...he was killed.”

Clint jerks his hand away, his gaze shifting, and when Natasha manages to find his eyes she sees that they’re filled with a heavy anger.

“You didn’t tell me.”

“I -- no,” Natasha admits, shaking her head. She prays Laura wont come back outside and walk into this; she hadn’t wanted to do it this close to the house but she felt _comfortable_ close to home, close to Laura and the kids and the farm that had become her own. “No way was I going to tell you while you were recovering in the hospital. Not while Laura was a mess. Not while --”

“Not while what? Not while I was a _dad_ and not an agent?” Clint snaps, standing up in one fluid motion. “Is that what you did? You protected me and didn’t tell me because you were worried about me?”

“I didn’t tell you because it wasn’t the right _time_ ,” Natasha emphasizes, trying not to match his intensity. “You were in no condition to hear it. You still aren’t. But I can’t sit here and keep this hidden from you.”

She’s sure he’s going to yell at her and let loose some horrible words and maybe even some obscenities. Instead, he storms loudly down the porch steps and across the lawn, disappearing into the large barn. Natasha stands up slowly and hesitates, throwing her gaze back towards the house. The warm light from the living room and kitchen bleeds outside into the darkening evening and she shivers, suddenly cold in the one place she’s always felt warm. Part of her wants to just forget this whole thing and leave him to his anger, walk inside and hug Cooper and Lila and kiss Laura and eat dinner like everything is normal. The other part of her knows she can’t do that, because their lives were never going to be normal, even if they tried to pretend otherwise.

She follows his path steadily, pulling open the door to the barn. She’s not sure what she expects to find, but Clint sitting with his back against a wooden pole, hunched over in defeat and tiredness, isn’t high on her list. Natasha continues towards him and then sits down, giving him a measure of space if he decides to lash out again. She’s well aware of what it feels like when someone tries to give you comfort you don’t want, but the problem is, she doesn’t know what he wants right now.

For a long time, the only sound is their shared breathing, loud in the silence, and some owls hooting softly outside.

“It’s my fault.”

And there it was -- the words Natasha had expected from the moment she told him what happened. She inches closer.

“That’s not true.”

“It is,” Clint says, not moving his gaze from the floor.

“No,” Natasha counters, leaning over and putting her lips to his temple. “It’s not.”

“How the hell can you _say_ that?” Clint asks. When he raises his head, Natasha notices a pool of water holding court above his eyes. “The reason Loki’s minions knew where the helicarrier was, that was because of me. The reason you got attacked was because of me. I did everything that made the Hulk almost kill you, I led the charge that killed other agents, I _killed_ Coulson --”

“Agent Phil Coulson put his life on the line as a SHIELD agent and made the same sacrifice any of us would have made. He believed in the cause,” Natasha interrupts firmly, her voice sliding into Agent Romanoff despite the fact she’s sitting here feeling every bit like Nat, like Tasha, like Auntie Nat. “He could have stayed with Fury and protected the bridge, but he chose to try and fight Loki on his own. He should’ve waited. He should’ve called for back-up. You can put a fair amount of blame on yourself Clint, and I know that you will, but you’re not responsible for someone else’s choices.”

Clint blinks, letting the water fall from his eyes. “It was never supposed to be like this.”

Natasha watches the tears slide down his cheeks. _I know_ , she wants to say, because it never was. Clint was never supposed to leave Iowa and get recruited for some massive security organization. He was never supposed to be sent to Russia to save a broken soviet weapon, he was certainly never supposed to bring her home and fall in love with her and have his wife fall in love with her as well. He was supposed to be a dad, a bartender in a crappy college town, a simple guy who made a grocery list every day and didn’t believe in aliens or flying cars or high-tech weapons.

He was never supposed to be sitting here after being brainwashed by an Asardian, feeling responsible for killing people who had been his friends and colleagues from the first day he set foot in SHIELD.

“It wasn’t for me, either,” Natasha says quietly, knowing it’s the only comfort she can give him. She puts her arms around his shoulders and pulls him close, only mildly surprised when he folds into her, his body shaking with silent sobs. She holds him the same way she’s seen him hold Cooper when he’s had a nightmare, or Lila when she’s given herself a paper cut. She doesn’t let him pull away until her arms stop feeling wet.

Natasha pushes back a lock of hair from his forehead and kisses him again. “Laura’s got dinner almost ready.”

Clint blinks in the aftermath of tears and Natasha can see him trying to pull his mind back together. “Laura. Does she --”

“No,” Natasha says. “This is between us. I needed you to be able to understand it before we told her. We’ll do the rest together. We’re going to do all of it together, okay?”

 _All of it._ Healing, talking, anything that they needed to do to get back to where they were. Anything they needed to do to return to themselves, even if it meant taking it slow, even if it meant therapy and anger and setbacks. He shifts next to her, his movements heavy, as if the weight of the world is crushing his entire body. Natasha wishes she could do something more than just reassure him that things will eventually be okay.

“You’re thinking of how to help me,” Clint says suddenly with a small sigh. “You’re always thinking about how to help me. I don’t deserve you.”

“Shut up,” Natasha replies bluntly. “You deserve everything.” She thinks of Laura and Cooper and Lila, of the life he’s built for himself that no one else would ever be lucky enough to have no matter how many times they saved the world or how many heroes welcomes they received.

“Even second chances, apparently.” Clint leans against her shoulder. “How is that fair? Why do I come home and get to start over and he doesn’t?”

Natasha’s eyes burn. “I don’t know,” she admits. “Why did I get to start over with you and someone like Oksana didn’t? It’s...it’s life.” She shakes her head. “It’s just life, Clint. But it’s a life we get to live. So we have to try to live it while we can.”

“You always did sound like a Hallmark card,” Clint says roughly, and Natasha can’t help it -- she laughs, the sound spilling from her lips, sounding harsh and strange in the quietness that hangs in the air.

“You’re one to talk,” she says when she’s regained her composure. “You’re wearing a shirt that has animated characters on it.”

Clint looks down at his choice of clothing -- a _Dora the Explorer_ shirt that Lila had bought him as a birthday gift because she wanted them to match when they watched the show together, and a ghost of a smile pulls at his lips.

 _Maybe we will be okay,_ Natasha thinks as she curls into him, the beats of his pulse strong as they throb against her neck.

When she breathes, his scent smells like home.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you from the bottom of my heart for sticking around, and hey, maybe every chapter won't be 10K this time for real? ;)
> 
> As always, find me on tumblr for more feels @isjustprogress!


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